Wish I Could
by FranklyMyDear89
Summary: The woman smiled when he glanced back, one last time, before disappearing into the night. She knew he wouldn't be back. Not for her. And he'd be right, since she didn't plan on staying any longer. ONESHOT. Songfic, of sorts. SPOILERS.


Wish I Could

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A well-dressed woman slowly circled a pile of gore, silent, contemplative. The wind whipping by didn't disturb her, nor did the armed man and lumbering beast as they sauntered by. Neither turned to look at the other, both content to stay in their own little world. It didn't bother her to be ignored; she rarely stopped to pay anyone attention these days, her mind on much more important and elusive matters.

The gore meant something to her, but she couldn't recall what. It had obviously been a woman, if the blood-splattered high heel a few yards away was any indication. Her mind wandered, and she absently decided to come back later to riddle it out. For now, she wanted to try one more time.

She walked until she located the familiar door, which stubbornly remained closed to her. She had misplaced her key, and no matter what pleading she offered, the occupant wouldn't allow her entry. She knew today would be no different, that she ought to leave him be since he was probably trying to sleep, but her pride wouldn't let her give up the pretense. She gingerly rapped her knuckles against the paint-chipped steel door, holding her head high as she waited for a response. Sighing when the other side remained silent, she stiffly began to walk past the door, as though she hadn't just been knocking on it. This was all for show, anyway. If she didn't keep trying, she would be admitting that he left her.

She turned, intending to return to the gore and figure out its meaning, when she heard a muffled wail. That was different. Looking, she noticed another door stood slightly ajar, just enough for a person to squeeze through if they desired. She didn't want to go in; that wasn't the threshold she trying to cross, but the crying didn't stop and she found the sound of heartbreak was pulling her in despite her efforts to ignore it. It resonated with something within her, and she felt an overpowering need to bring comfort to whatever tortured soul resided within that room.

Side stepping the door, she shuffled into the room until a huddled mass of leather came into sight. The attire screamed prepared, but the face, contorted in grief, said otherwise. The figure clasped a crumpled piece of paper in her hand, which shook as another sob ripped through her. The woman slowly made her way closer, until she sat on the edge of the bed next to the girl. _She's young_, she thought, _too young to know how to deal with the world without breaking down like this. _She sighed, hoping her presence was enough of a comfort, and that she'd eventually cry her way into a state of calm.

The girl's moans were mostly unintelligible, save for a few phrases that resembled _not fair_ and _no goodbye._ She must have lost someone, then, someone she loved very much, to be grieving like this. The woman knew that kind of pain, and sympathized. War always encompassed an unfairness and loss without a sense of closure. She wondered if the person the girl was grieving was a soldier.

She was surprised, however, when a name dropped from the girl's lips. She sat rigid, waiting to hear it again, to confirm her fears. Yes, there it was again. The name that would forever be on her own tongue. She panicked, stood before realizing she'd done so. He couldn't be dead, she reasoned. She'd seen him just hours ago before he disappeared behind that door. She'd seen him just after –

Her mind reeled, everything finally falling into place. She looked down at the girl, not really recognizing her, but understanding she'd been in town a few days now without them interacting. She'd spoken with _him_, though. Made some sort of a pact. And it was the fulfillment of that agreement that led her here, bawling on the floor by her bed. But the despair she felt wasn't just for him, or even herself. It was for the woman. She was grieving for the woman. She sat again, on the edge of the bed, thinking. She remained silent until the girl fell asleep where she was on the floor.

She didn't tell the girl that she'd once loved him too. That she was in over her head if she thought there was going to be any changing him. In all the time she'd spent with him, after all the things they done together, accomplished in their relationship, she'd done the most changing. But she didn't tell the girl that. That was something she'd find out on her own.

She looked down again, her face as serene as the sleeping one next to her. She gently brushed her fingers over the younger one's scalp, leaning down to press her lips to her hair. A goodbye. A forgiveness. A comfort. The girl didn't stir, unaware of the woman's gesture. It was probably better that way, the woman thought as she quietly left the room and was under the sky once more.

She made her way to the pile of gore once more, seeing it for what it was, feeling a sense of peace filling her heart as she let go of the terror and hate it represented. She must have stood there longer than she'd thought, though, because after a while, when the sun had began its descent behind the hills, she watched as the man and the girl emerged from their rooms. He silently fell in step behind her as they left town, heading north, a sense of purpose behind their movement as they walked down the road they'd found.

The woman smiled when he glanced back, one last time, before disappearing into the night. She knew he wouldn't be back. Not for her. And he'd be right, since she didn't plan on staying any longer. She'd found her answers, and was content with the outcome. There wasn't a reason not to move on now. She stepped away from the gore, slowly circling the town once, committing it to memory as she made a final, un-granted wish to go back to how things used to be, before the jealousy and the fights and the tragic endings.

Sighing contentedly, knowing there was nothing left for her in this world any longer, Carla's soul faded into eternity.

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A/N: I've been on a songfic kick the last week or so, and just happened to have this idea pop in my head one morning as I listened to Norah Jones. I probably could write a million Boone-fics to her music, wonderfully depressing as her work tends to be, but this one in particular is (loosely) based off "Wish I Could," hence the title. If the fic didn't make sense to you, listen to the song and you should gain some perspective. YouTube that shit.

I also took a leap outside my comfort zone, writing from Carla's POV, since we never actually see her in action, but I hope I did her character justice. I think she would have moved on after Jeanie-May… Boone's the one that strikes me as a grudge-holder, not her. Anyway, thoughts, comments, rants about any injustices I may have committed, all are welcome.


End file.
